


give me back my heart you wingless thing

by multifacetedfangirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (only the threat of!), Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifacetedfangirl/pseuds/multifacetedfangirl
Summary: Jaskier had been on his own since he left home at 15. He didn't need someone to take care of him then. He definitely didn't need someone to take care of him when he was traveling with that brooding Witcher for 10 years; and he sure as hell didn't need someone when he was kidnapped by bandits as Witcher bait.Of course, Geralt of Rivia knows better.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 78
Kudos: 287





	1. O N E

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphoslover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphoslover/gifts).



> This has been rattling around my brain for months now, and I'm so happy it's finally found it's way out.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely ec-sydney : https://ec-sydney.tumblr.com/ Go check them out! 
> 
> I was inspired by one of those 10 hour loops of "Toss a Coin to Your Witcher", which will make sense later! Hope you enjoy this as much I enjoy writing it! Title from The Horror and The Wild, because how could I not?
> 
> Dedicated to my very darling theskyisgay, who is the Jaskier to my Geralt. Thank you for all your support, I'm so glad we're friends.
> 
> Please comment and/or kudos, it really means a lot! And this story is still being written, so if there is anything you want to see in the future, let me know! Tags will be added as I update.
> 
> Xx Krow Abbey

______________________________________________________________

It seems like anywhere Jaskier goes these days, the only song the people want to hear is his legendary epic about Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier is getting quite sick of this song. Not that he doesn't enjoy the coin that comes with playing it; it just seems that it's the only thing he's remembered for anymore. Everywhere he goes people ask him about the great Witcher, the White Wolf, The Butcher of Blaviken- although Jaskier always turns away from people who refer to that vile moniker of Geralt’s. Jaskier usually never has a good answer for them. It's not like Geralt has been in contact or anything since he told Jakier he prayed he would disappear from Geralt’s life. That had hurt, no matter how glibly he had turned away from the Witcher at that time. Jaskier often wonders how useless Geralt thinks he really is. He _has_ survived traveling on his own for the last year; it's not like he’s completely useless. 

But Jaskier doesn't have time to think about all that. After buying his newest outfit- to draw attention to himself when he sets out with his new and latest song- he's going to have to sing for his dinner tonight. If he waits too long no innkeeper worth their salt will let him in. He knows first-hand what kind of customers arrive at pubs closer to daylight than not. Jaskier would rather not be caught out with _those_ types, thank you very much. It’s this hard-earned knowledge that has Jaskier determinedly striding into the first of the town’s inns. 

Jaskier has built up quite a reputation after his song about Geralt spread like a plague throughout the continent. It's not hard for him to bargain for a room and a meal once people recognize _which_ bard it is performing for them that evening. The innkeeper is more than happy to let Jaskier perform there in exchange for a small cut of anything he gets from the people in the audience. 

Jaskier has learned that he has to alter his performance for his audience. If there are more women in the crowd then it is prudent to avoid a couple of the raunchier songs in his repertoire, and if the crowd is tired and hushed that night they might more appreciate his slower, soothing ballads. Today, however, it seems like there is a perfect audience. It is still early and the crowd is cheerful and jubilant. As Jaskier begins his routine, the inn starts to hush, and the noise soon rises again as people join him in singing or clapping along; shouting requests as soon as he finishes one song for the next. It seems like there is a wealthy caravan of traders passing through the area because the patrons are generous with the coin they give Jaskier. At the end of a long night -with requests of an encore repeated over and over- Jaskier finally is able to duck out for a breath of air, leaving behind an audience very pleased with what they paid for. 

It's the excitement of a good show and thrill of knowing that he won't have to worry about money for a good while that leaves him where he is now; kneeling in the dirt outside the tavern, gasping for breath, gut throbbing in pain. 

“Now, gentlemen,” he placates, “If you weren’t satisfied with your entertainment tonight I’m sure there’s a better way for us to come to a compromise about this.” Jaskier struggles to stand up again to turn and face his attackers, but before he can rise, a rough, gloved hand grabs his hair. His neck is bared to the edge of a knife as his head is pulled backwards, and his eyes widen in fear. “Wait, please-”

“Shut up, bard,” a strange voice growls in his ear, hot breath giving him sudden chills. Jaskier curses in his head, he knows the dangers of being caught outside past decent hours, yet he risked it. Somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear a voice that sounds strangely like Geralt’s admonishing him for even thinking about stepping out. A bigger part of him is wondering what he could have possibly done to anger the men holding him right now; nothing comes to mind, but it’s not unlikely that Jaskier could have done something _regrettable_ that has slipped his memory entirely. Jaskier doesn’t have enough time to brainstorm, however, he does catch the words, “freak bastard,” and “mutant scum” before a sharp pain at the back of his head sends him reeling into the darkness. 

  
  
  


______________________________________________________________

Jaskier can’t tell what exactly is happening around him the next time he opens his eyes. He feels the air around his face, stale and tepid, and can see nothing but spots of light in the darkness. His body is hung over a moving mass of muscle, and he is swaying gently as the horse steps through what Jaskier hopes is still the dark, forest night. Jaskier almost huffs a bit as he realizes what position he has found himself in; bound and apparently gagged, thrown upon a horse, and hooded as well. He’s a _damsel in distress_ , a classic trope that he himself has written ballads about, but never experienced. Jaksier is better than that! He is his own man, and doesn’t need anyone to come rescue him… Not that there is anyone who would bother to rescue him. 

The bard’s mind begins to spin. There _isn’t_ anyone who would come to rescue him. He’s not royalty or nobility (at least that anyone else knows), and any money he has with him was hanging on a purse on his belt. Jaskier can’t be sure, but he thinks that the purse is no longer there. Why would these brutes bother to keep Jaskier alive? Why would they even make the effort of bringing him along with them? Suddenly, the snatches of conversation that he heard earlier float back into his consciousness. _Mutant scum?_ There’s a lot of insults thrown around casually, but that one is only reserved for a select few. _Witchers_. In a sudden burst of clarity, Jaskier realizes that his kidnapping, in connection with the Witchers that these brutes hate, can only mean one thing: someone has taken Jaskier in an effort to trap Geralt.

If it weren’t for the dirty cloth stuffed into his mouth, Jaskier would probably be laughing pathetically. Geralt? Come for him? These men had gotten useless information, and there was no chance that Geralt would even _hear_ about what happened to Jaskier until he was killed off and had a ballad written about the brave bard who died protecting his Witcher… The pain in Jaskier’s head is spinning again, and his train of thought trickles off course as he loses consciousness again.

____________________________________________________________________

The next time Jaskier has enough energy to properly open his eyes and look around, he finds himself strapped tightly to the trunk of an enormous tree. His arms, oddly enough, are left free, but thick rope winds around his torso multiple times, and he can’t see where the knot binds him to the tree somewhere behind him. Traveling for as long as he has been has left him with some sense of safety, and Jaskier stretches down towards his boots to grasp at the small knife he keeps hidden there. He comes up empty, and he kicks his heels into the ground in anger, drawing the attention of the bandits that he had forgotten were there. 

“Ah, the bastard awakens!” a dark voice rumbles from somewhere in front of him. Dusk has long since fallen, and Jaskier cannot see the face of the man talking; lit by the fire behind him the figure is just a silhouette. A sudden wave of fear washes over Jaskier, and the truth of the situation sets in. He has been captured by an unknown group, for unknown reasons, and there is no one, no one out there who would possibly be looking for him. Jaskier, no- Julian Alfred Pankratz was going to die alone in the woods and no one would miss him. 

The blood starts rushing through his head, which aggravates the injury to his head again. The bandit, meanwhile, has continued talking, and Jaskier realizes he should have been listening. He clears his head with a small shake of his head, and the bandit booms above him, “Look at ‘im shaking his head! Just because you say the Witcher won’t come for you, don’t mean we are foolish enough ta believe ya!” 

The Witcher. Geralt. Oh gods, dear Melitele, Jaskier is _fucked._ There is no way this is happening to him. Why is it that the time he spent with the white-haired bastard years ago is still haunting him today? Jaskier doesn’t deserve this. He's a good person... mostly. He helps women and children when he can and gives alms whenever he finds himself with a little extra coin. But even the worst people didn’t deserve to be kidnapped when their only hope of survival cursed them away almost a decade ago. 

Jaskier tries to stay positive, but he’s having a hard time dredging up any of his usual good humor. Being killed for his purse is one thing, but being kept in a bandit camp for however long before they realize no one is coming just to kill him later is nothing short of terrifying. Jaskier has talked himself out of many sticky situations over the years, but the charm and good humor escapes him at the moment. He decides to do away with the usual happy-little-bard facade and lets the exhaustion and frustration that’s been bubbling for ages spew out of him. It’s not like he has a death wish, but really, this is the end, isn’t it?

“There’s no point in all this.” he speaks up, interrupting whatever the hell the bandit was monologuing about. A hysterical side of him is yelling at him to shut up, shut up, _SHUT UP!_ Jaskier ignores the voice with all the courage of a man who knows he’s going to die in the near future; which is to say, quite a lot. “Have you been under a rock for a while now or what? The Witcher and I haven’t traveled together for ages now. What makes you think he’s even going to notice that I’m missing, much less come to such an obvious trap? You’d have better luck going to find him outright,” he spits, almost bitterly.

Jaskier notices vaguely that he’s slightly shaking, maybe from nerves, maybe from anger. Geralt has plagued his mind and soul since he left him on the mountaintop, and the onslaught of memories that threatens to overwhelm him at this moment has been building for a while. Jaskier wishes he could purge the Witcher from himself, but the hunter etched himself into Jaskier’s very being from the very moment that they had first met. Jaskier had thought that Geralt was just another easy infatuation, but as the two traveled together, Geralt seeped into Jaskier’s innermost soul and settled there for good. Of course, nothing between them had ever actualized, but there was a wordless bond between the two companions. Or at least, Jaskier had thought there was. Jaskier hadn’t lived a life of ease and comfort, but nothing had shaken him to the core like Geralt’s accusations had after that thrice-damned dragon quest. He had stumbled his way down the path, packing up his things from the camp, and somehow found himself back at the tavern. From there, the only thing the bard could think to do was get as far from Geralt of Rivia as he physically could, because the bastard had burrowed himself into Jaskier’s heart and there was nothing he could do about that now. 

A breeze of air and a sudden thud from right above his head brings Jaskier’s thoughts hurtling back into the present. The group of bandits surrounding him now has increased somehow, and the press around him in a tight, suffocating circle. Only the press of the large tree trunk behind him keeps him from entirely losing himself to panic; there’s no way any of them can come at him from behind. The man who seems like the leader of the bandit is resting his hand on a belt of throwing knives strapped around him, and Jaskier belatedly realizes that there is one sticking out of the wood above him. Jaskier’s panic begins to set in and the man with his terrible smile, laughs obnoxiously and turns in a circle, addressing his men, 

“Look here men! Too long we’ve ignored the monster that roams our streets in the face of what it does for us, but no more! We don’t need no damned Witcher hunting our monsters for us. One mutant bastard has nothing on a group of well armed righteous men, am I right?” A raucous cheer rises around him, “We’ve grabbed us the perfect bait for Witcher hunting, now. There’s no way that that freak won’t come running once he hears that we’ve got his little whore of a bard tied up all pretty right here.” Jaskier’s captor stalks closer to him and leans heavily over his body as he yanks the knife out of the tree. The smaller man shivers a little at the almost contact, and regrets not knocking his head into the bandits stomach when he was close enough. Jaskier decides that he’s not going out without a bang, and vows to make as much trouble as possible before the bandits decide to do away with him. 

“You know,” he calls to the retreating back of the bandit leader, “Geralt won’t be happy to see me like this if he gets here.” Jaskier steels his heart and keeps going, “He'll probably cut each of you down slowly and painfully for touching me. Plus, my lute was a gift from him, and I promised him I’d take care of it.” He knows he’s pushing it now, he’s using his whiniest voice and making up ridiculous claims, but fuck it, right? “And this was Geralt’s favorite outfit, he’s going to hate that it’s gotten all muddied and torn.” As Jaskier breathes deep to continue, the large man in front of him stops. He’s framed by the light from the fire in front of them, and he seems to flicker with the fire to Jaskier. He barely turns back, but in the firelight, Jaskier can see sharp teeth glinting in a malicious smile. 

“Take him out,” the leader nods at one of the men in the circle around them, and Jaskier can almost feel his heart leap out of his chest. 

“Nononono, no, please, wait!” he pleads, suddenly desperate for survival, but a large brute lumbers toward him with his hands outstretched. Jaskier clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to look death in the face as much as he had earlier, but instead of a knife cutting him open, he feels a rough cloth across his mouth and nose. He tries to jerk backwards, but he’s held in place by strong hands, and it’s the strong smell that’s the last his consciousness registers before it gives in to the dark. 

______________________________________________________________


	2. T W O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's been captured, but by who? And what are their plans for him? 
> 
> ft. ice baths, lute playing, and whining bards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! I hope you all enjoy it, I'm having fun on my end lol. 
> 
> There's a lot happening to Jaskier today, the poor boy. It's only gonna get worse from here on out! XD
> 
> Please subscribe if you liked this, I promise I'm trying my best to upload once a week. Also, comment! Let me know what you liked, or didn't (please be gentle). Oh, and you can always kudos to send some quick love my way!
> 
> Thanks, and happy reading!

________________________________________________________________

It’s not the crowing of a distant rooster that awakens Jaskier the next morning, nor the gentle streaming sunlight over his face. Jaskier jerks against his bindings as he is dragged back to wakefulness by what seems like a bucketful of ice water. He shakes his wet hair out of his eyes, and blinks his eyes blearily as he cranes his neck to look up at the man holding him here. The sun is filtering through the trees, and in the light of day Jaskier can see the face of his captor clearly. A deep scar has hollowed in his left cheek, clear green eyes hard, and dark hair cropped short. 

“Good morning, isn’t it bard?” he remarks. “There seems to be some things we need to discuss today, but why don’t you eat while I talk.” The man nods at something behind Jaskier’s line of sight. Having just been startled awake by a fresh ice bath, Jaskier is slow to comprehend why his captor is nodding. That was until the draw of a blade cut through the calm of the forest. Jaskier stiffens in fear, sure that his life is ending right then and there. Suddenly, the ropes lashing Jaskier to the tree come loose, and he almost falls forward with the sudden loss of resistance. He instinctively brings his hands up in front of him in a weak excuse for defensive posture, but there is no strength in his tingling arms. The bandit leader pushes Jaskier backwards to lean him on the tree, and hands him a bowl of porridge as he sits down in front of Jaskier. He waves a hand dismissively, and soon they’re alone. Jaskier is wary of the man sitting across him, but the last time he’d eaten was yesterday, at breakfast, so he nods stiffly and brings a shaking spoonful to his suddenly dry mouth. 

“My name is Kanen,” the bandit begins. “I’m the leader of this group of men. We are admittedly not good people, but we’ve gone too far this time.” The sudden confession throws Jaskier off kilter. Kanen continues, “We came together in a small village on the edge of Cintra, where there was a drowner terrorizing the citizens. Us menfolk had been hunting the monster for a while when suddenly the Witcher shows up and dispatches the bastard easy as that. Most of these men felt like they were shown up and humiliated by the Witcher finishing the job as quickly as he did, but not me. My wife and child were taken by that monster, and I was glad to see the tail end of the terror. I had nothing left for me in our little village, so I united some of the other men under the banner of killing the Witcher in revenge, and we took off across the continent. I never expected to actually come across the chance to lure him in like this, and the men were so energized about it that I could barely stop them from killing you offhandedly. I managed to emphasize the importance of constraint, and they’ve backed off for now. You can rest assured that nothing will happen to you unless I allow it, and I know the merits of treating you the way you should be.” 

Throughout the entire retelling, Jaskier’s focus hasn’t wavered from Kanen, curiosity and fear coursing through him at rapid speed. Hope blossoms anew in his chest, and he puts down the now empty bowl. He rubs his wrist and palms to make sure that the blood flow continues, and asks in a low voice,

“Can you help me get away, then?” At the small shake of Kanen’s head, Jaskier huffs quietly, but is ultimately unsurprised. He can’t believe his luck, a sympathetic captor that knows antagonizing Geralt is no good. Still, this is beyond what he could have hoped for. 

“Just stay put for now.” Kanen instructs, “I’ll have someone guarding you, but you don’t need to be tied to the tree to stay put. This’ll all figure itself out, just you wait.” Jaskier nods as Kanen starts to walk away before stopping, reaching behind a boulder to pull something out. 

“Might as well tune this while you’re waiting, no?” he hands Jaskier his elven lute and the bard almost cries in relief. He smiles a grateful, exhausted grin at Kanen, then perches back against the tree, fingers already lightly picking at the strings. Jaskier watches Kanen walk away with a bemused grin on his face, wondering what exactly fate has in store for him, now that imminent death seems to be off the table.

________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


It’s not long before Jaskier has his lute finely tuned, and is beginning to pluck out a couple simple chords. The towering man that stands just behind him hasn’t said a word, and Jaskier wonders if his burgeoning boredom is worth bothering the hulk of a man, eventually deciding it was better to stay quiet. 

Sitting in the cool shade of trees in the grove, Jaskier shivers lightly as he feels a light breeze touch over his still wet clothes. The sun shines high somewhere above him, Jaskier can see it penetrate the thick layer of forest canopy in the distance, bright beams setting the grass around them alight, yet they weren't strong enough to dry his trousers. He gently props his lute against the tree and cranes his neck around to look for his ally in this hellish nightmare. Jaskier can make out the noise of clinking metal and the scrape of stone, but doesn’t see Kanen. As he turns his head to one side, he feels a presence on his other side, and immediately jerks around. His breath catches in his throat as he comes face to face with Kanen, who is crouched on the ground next to him, the sharp grin from the night before on his face.

Jaskier nervously laughs, “Wow, I didn’t even see you there, warn a man or you might lose your bait to a heart attack.” He mentally berates himself for being caught off-guard. His time travelling with Geralt has taught him better, and he questions how it is that the bandit got so close to him without him noticing. 

“Hunting for your food regularly will hone one’s instincts. I know how to get close to what I want without ever letting my prey notice.” Kanen says slowly. Something in his eyes unnerves Jaskier, and he shivers lightly. Kanen notices him move, and looks concernedly at his slightly damp hair, and much more damp clothes. 

“That’s quite a skill to have, I’m sure it comes in handy.” Kanen hums, and sits down in the shade of the tree next to Jaskier. He’s close enough that the heat from his leg warms Jaskier slightly, who unconsciously shifts closer before realizing what he was doing, and readjusting. Jaskier could hit himself, what is he doing, getting so comfortable around his captor? Kind to him or not, he is still his prisoner, if only in name? He risks a glance to the side, where Kanen is smiling lightly, and Jaskier feels something in him soften. 

Jaskier isn’t lonely, not entirely in any case. There are nights when he is surrounded by huge crowds, cheering him on, buying him drinks, and maybe later, warming his bed. Jaskier hasn’t gone without company for very long, but a companion is something he’s been deprived of for ages now. There’s no reason for that, nope, none at all, and definitely not one that he’s left at the top of a very tall and annoying mountain. 

Jaskier reigns his thoughts back in; he doesn’t want to fall into that bitter spiral again, not here, not now, not ever, really. Kanen is still sitting next to him, carving slices out of an apple with a knife that looks eerily familiar. Jaskier clears his throat, and turns to face him properly,

“Not that I’m not grateful, but how long am I going to have to stay here? Don’t take me the wrong way, I’m beyond thankful that I had the luck of being brought to your camp, and you’ve been endlessly kind to me and-” Kanen huffs a laugh, and points the knife in his hand at Jaskier’s face. The bard pales and tries to scramble backwards, but falls into the legs of the bandit that is standing guard over him. He closes his eyes, and brings his arms over his head, but all he feels is a strong arm pulling him back up to a sitting position. When Jaskier slowly opens his eyes again, he’s staring into Kanen’s face, where there is a wry grin, and an odd, unnerving look in his eyes. Kanen slowly brings up his other hand as he grips Jaskier, and he finally notices the bit of apple speared at the end of the dagger facing him. Jaskier ducks his head and blushes lightly as he grabs the fruit off the knife, and pops it into his mouth. 

“You’re much too paranoid, bard. I already told you, I have no reason to hurt you.” Jaskier nods, and Kanen releases his arm, fingers trailing as he lets go. “Why don’t you play something, that should settle you a bit.” 

Jaskier starts, surprised, “You,  _ want _ to hear me?” He isn’t used to having a willing audience outside of paying patrons at a pub. Especially not anyone he travels with, or who has to spend more than an evening with him. It’s a curse of his talents, there’s constantly a melody floating around his head, or lyrics swimming just within his grasp. He needs to get them out as soon as possible, or else he loses them, and not every moment is conducive to him bursting into song. Many of the people he has traveled with have cursed him out for strumming the same chords for hours on end, or slowing the party down because he simply has to write the next verse down. There was a time when Jaskier thought he had finally found someone who understood him, and his habits, but that had been a foolish misunderstanding of a naive young man.

Kanen not only wants to hear him play, but asks for it. Jaskier feels a rush of excitement and grins brightly back at Kanen. He picks up his lute, fingering the strings, no real melody in mind, but strums gently anyway. Kanen gets to his feet, a hand gently resting on Jaskier’s shoulder for a short second, and then walks away. Jaskier leans heavily against the tree behind him, adjusting his grip on the lute, and keeps playing, light and airy notes twinkling in the morning sun.

_______________________________________________________

As the day goes on, Jaskier watches the camp move around him. The guard standing over him has cycled out, and he’s on the third watchman of the day. As bandit camps go, it seems fairly normal. Not that he has much reference as to what usually goes on, but the group of men just seem to be living their lives; sharpening swords, cleaning clothes, telling loud raunchy stories. Jaskier is mostly ignored where he sits, and the sun has moved high above him. His doublet has mostly dried, even as the sunlight is filtered through the heavy greenery above him. 

Jaskier is not dense, he knows that even if the leader of this group of bandits has claimed him off limits, the unexplained protection is wearing on the thugs. Several times, he looks up to catch one of them glaring at him, or a group talking amongst themselves, gesturing at him as they do. He tries to ignore them for the most, but when one walks by to talk to his guard, saying pointedly, “It’s getting awfully loud out here, isn’t it?” Jaskier knows the smart thing to do is put down his lute and try not to cause a scene. Even if it was Kanen himself that encouraged him to play, he’s not out in the center of camp anymore, and Jaskier can’t depend on his help if he starts his own problems.

Jaskier is used to solving his own problems. It’s not easy having to defend Witchers all on his own, but someone has to do it. As much as Jaskier would like to leave them to their fates, he had started the campaign and he won’t stop until they get the respect they deserve from the public. He’s had people insult him and even run him out of town when they realize he’s a “monster-sympathizer” as some call it, or as others who are freer with their tongues, a “monster-fucker”. If traveling with one hadn’t ruined his reputation enough, or bolstered it, depending on the region, Jaskier was always willing to pick a fight with anyone who decided to trash-talk the Witchers in front of him. Often, he found himself sitting in the corner of a pub, listening to the negativity spew from the townspeople, blood boiling in rage.

A shadow falls over him, and Jaskier looks up to see Kanen standing in front of him, blocking all the light, which Jaskier realizes is coming from the fire pit. The day has passed by in what seems like the blink of an eye, but the heavy weight that Jaskier feels in his chest is one that he recognizes. Whenever Jaskier gets thoroughly lost in the past like that, he doesn’t come back to himself for a long time. It leaves him drained and feeling heavy and sluggish, and Jaskier hates the feeling. He tries to push things that affect him like that down, but sometimes they burst through the dam, overwhelming him all at once.

“Jaskier?” he hears Kanen’s voice inquiring. He realizes that Kanen has called him multiple times now, and shakes his head to clear it. Jaskier looks up at him again, and looks at the plate held in Kanen’s hands. The camp behind him seems to have been wound down for the night, men lying around the fire, passing around flasks. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier says, as he takes the metal dish from the man still standing over him. His stomach rumbles loudly at the smell of roasted meat, and he belatedly realizes that he hasn’t eaten anything since early that morning. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get anything to eat during the day. I told the men to bring you something, but I suppose they forgot.” Jaskier hums, and focuses on the food on his plate. He can recognize it at venison. There was a time when Jaskier couldn’t tell bear from pigeon in his meals, but there are certain experiences that ingrain knowledge into you, and 10 years of watching the hunt being cooked taught you a thing or two. Kanen is looking directly at Jaskier again, smiling softly.

“I see you’re tired today. I’m sure the excitement of last night tired you out.” Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but yawns widely instead, and Kanen laughs. “I’ll leave you to eat.”

Jaskier watches him walk away, and feels a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the chill in the air around him. 

When one of the bandits comes back to him to take his plate away, Jaskier sees the man clutching a tankard to his chest. He hopes it’s water for him, his throat is completely parched. The man shoves the cup into his hand and Jaskier takes an  _ almost _ desperate sip from it. The cool water feels wonderful, but before he can drink again, his hand is jerked away from him, and the water spills all over his front. Jaskier hisses as the cold penetrates his layers, and glares adamantly at the bandit holding his arm. 

“Oops.” The bandit grunts meaninglessly, but the bard stares in shock as his wrist is caught in a manacle, one that’s attached to a huge boulder some ways behind him. He pulls on it, and the weight of the chain shocks him. The bandit takes up the plate and walks away, deaf to the protests from Jaskier behind him.

The wind howls through the trees, and Jaskier shudders as the cold seems to seep into his bones. He looks toward the main camp, where the fire has been put out and everyone gone to their tents. He holds back a string of angry curses, and turns onto his side. Curling into a tight ball, trying to conserve heat, Jaskier falls into an uneasy sleep.

________________________________________

“You really shouldn’t be sitting around in these wet clothes. Don’t want you to catch anything. Why don’t you dry off properly in the sun?” Jaskier wakes to Kanen dropping a towel on his still damp body. The morning sun is still shy, and doesn’t quite pierce the thick canopy. He holds a hand out to Jaskier, and pulls him up to his feet. Kanen guides Jaskier away from the main camp, and moves further into the empty woods. After a couple minutes of walking, Jaskier hears water flowing, and they come upon a small clearing. 

The trees in the clearing are barely sproutlings. A small creek flows into an unusually clear pond, and large flat stones sit in the bright sunlight. Jaskier can hear the chirping of birds, and even sees a small rabbit hop away into one of the clumps of wildflowers. Kanen moves forward and sits on one of the stones surrounding the pond. Jaskier takes a moment more to marvel at the beauty, before he joins Kanen on the rocks. He strips off his doublet and lays it down to dry in the cheery sun, pulling off his boots before he joins them on the ground. There is a sense of calm that envelops him, sitting here in this clearing. 

As Jaskier leans backwards onto his elbows, smiling lightly as he faces Kanen, he wonders if the string of bad luck entwined with his soul has finally snapped.

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	3. T H R E E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has never been happier to be friends with his kidnapper, no matter what anyone else says. Also our plucky bard takes a swim, gets a massage, a nap, and a haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took a while! to get out. I just wasn't happy with how it was coming out, and this was edited like multiple times. I have a ton of wonderful betas to thank for this finally being posted:
> 
> @monochromerainbows  
> @aj13 : https://upsidedownvanilla.tumblr.com/  
> @theskyisgay021 : https://theskyisgay021.tumblr.com/
> 
> Oh a note, you may or may not notice but I switched to using past tense in this chapter! I'll go back and edit the rest of the chapters sometime else, but please let me know if I missed any here. 
> 
> Anyways, we're moving into more of the plot now, and I'm very excited to see what you all think of this chapter. There were a lot of guesses in the last chapter, and I hope some of you make it back here to see what happens next! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment, kudos, and subscribe for more!
> 
> __________________________________________________

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Jaskier felt like he was doing quite well for himself, all things considered. He had a bedroll to rest on, a nice big tree for shelter, a source of food, and most importantly, his lute. Considering the fact that he’d been kidnapped for a week now, Jaskier could be doing much worse. The time off had been quite good for Jaskier if he was being honest. Regular food and rest, not having to worry about money, or people coming after him to rid him of it; Jaskier had experienced more taxing vacations in the past. His only complaint, not that he would voice it, was the lack of company. As a bard, he was used to the sound of his voice constantly ringing in his own ears, whether it be songs for an adoring public, charming conversation, or soft noises in the privacy of someone’s darkened chambers. Here, in a generally hostile territory, Jaskier didn’t have the freedom to express himself the way he was used to. Kanen had given him free reign, but Jaskier knew better than to stir up trouble that he couldn’t get away from. 

So he sat around, mentally composing new lyrics about the brave bard and his mysterious kidnapper. He tried not to be bored out of his mind in his solitude, with his only respite being meals with Kanen. The bandit leader sat and talked with him in the mornings, and sometimes they went back to the pond beyond the camp, where Jaskier felt freer and almost at peace. They talked about their pasts, their futures; Kanen asked for stories of the continent, places he’d never been, things he’d never seen. Jaskier was only too happy to oblige; a willing ear for his tales was never forsaken. In the evenings, Kanen brought him supper, apologized for the behavior of his men during the day, and left him with a warm smile and a cool mug of water. 

Still, Jaskier wasn't complacent. Every day Jaskier asked if he could leave, and every day Kanen told him that he needed more time to figure out how to explain away Jaskier’s disappearance to the men. Jaskier understood; the men were not the sort to be easily dissuaded from whatever they were after, and he knew that it was only the strong leadership of Kanen that allowed him the safety he was afforded. He still had to try.

“Come with me.” Jaskier suddenly said one day, as the two sat in the setting sun. Kanen looked over at him with a keen look in his eyes, and Jaskier turned away. Away from the camp, with only the sounds of the woods around them, Jaskier could try and pretend that they were just two friends enjoying themselves at dusk. 

“I have a responsibility to them,” Kanen sighed, “I’m the only one who can reign them in. Without me, who knows what kind of chaos they would cause?” Jaskier tossed a small rock towards the pond and watched it skip twice before sinking in. He nodded once, then pulled himself up and extended a hand towards Kanen. 

“Alright, then. I trust you, I can wait for the right moment.”

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Jaskier really should have known better by now, but there are times when willful ignorance was a temptation he couldn’t resist. So when he woke the next morning to the pain of a boot in his stomach, and a strong hand yanking him into the air by his collar, he was almost unsurprised.

“Get up, you worthless sack!” Jaskier was wide awake now, and breathed heavily as he looked around frantically. “Been living like a prince haven’t ya? Kanen’s letting you get away with whatever you want, probably buggering him like the whore you are!” 

There was a circle of bandits around him, and he remembered his first night here, bound to the tree and surrounded by the same view. His thoughts reeled as he wondered where Kanen was, and why the bandits suddenly struck out at him. A stocky thug broke out of the group, and pointed at Jaskier. 

“The bastard goes into town, and tells us to ‘remember to give him something to eat’! Who the hell is this bard that he deserves any mercy from warriors like us, let alone luxuries like BREAKFAST!” 

The group around them started yelling and jeering as well, and they all stepped closer, tightening the circle. The air closed around Jaskier, and he felt stiff and frozen, locked inside his body. Jaskier found it hard to breathe suddenly, and whether it was from panic or from the fist that found a place in his back was hard to tell.

Jaskier stumbled forward, trying to get away from his unseen attacker. He fell into the arms of another bandit, who held him tightly as a blow whipped his head back, his temple aching from the force of the punch. Blood trickled down into his eyes, and he realized a cut had opened up on his face. Jaskier only distantly registered what was happening right then. It had been a while since he’d been truly caught out like this, and his brain blanked on what the proper response should be. Something flipped a switch in his brain, and a command echoed in his ears, almost drilled into his head by the sheer number of times he’d heard it: _“Jaskier, RUN!”_

Pushing through reaching arms, Jaskier tried to get away, but tripped over something and fell to the ground, jarring his shoulder as he struggled to catch himself and ripped up his palms. Something long and heavy hit the back of his legs, and Jaskier collapsed face first into the dirt, pain crippling his desperate need to get away. 

The broken bard lay on the ground, curling his legs into himself in an attempt to protect his torso. He heard the shouts and taunts of the bandits around him and just tried to block them out,

_Just like patrons at the tavern, nothing more, you’re fine, you’ll be okay._

Jaskier was not unfamiliar to a little abuse. He was often a victim of people who made the wrong assumptions of his intentions, people who make the right assumptions but were still upset, and even those who thought that toying with someone a Witcher used to travel with was just good fun. There was no one to block his blows anymore, no one that would grab him by the scruff of his collar and stand him in a corner while they smoothed over his missteps. He could handle it, he just had to get through the worst of it, then he could run off to lick his wounds in private. He was on his own, and he could take it.

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Jaskier was holding himself tight, flinching in anticipation of the next blow. 

“STOP!” A loud voice broke through the raucous group, silencing them. _Kanen,_ Jaskier thought relievedly.

He twitched at the thought, realizing that he saw the man as a protector, someone to depend on, someone to defend him. Jaskier’s head was spinning, but he was unsure if it was the blows it had taken or the sudden realization he had come to. On one hand, Jaskier knew that this kind of thinking was what led him to heartbreak and pain the last time he had wandered down this path, but it felt good to be able to let go. He could be safe in the knowledge that someone was there to take care of him. That he didn’t have to be so strong anymore.

“What did I say? Just some patience was all I needed, and you couldn’t even do that! There’s an order to everything, and you almost ruined it all!” A disgusted scoff sounded across the clearing, “Well you’ve done the damage now, and I have to deal with it.”

Jaskier looked up as Kanen pushed through the circle, and grabbed the nearest bandit, growling something in his ear as he passed, who nodded and walked away. He knelt down to where Jaskier was curled up, 

“Jaskier, are you all right?” Kanen helped Jaskier shakily get to his feet, and looked him up and down. 

“I’ve had worse from angry husbands, I’ll be fine.” Jaskier grinned through gritted teeth, and clutched at Kanen’s arm around him. The strong arm keeping him from falling flat on his face felt almost familiar, but Jaskier pushed that thought away faster than it had arrived. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Kanen stopped to grab a bag from his tent, then helped Jaskier stumble his way toward the pond. Behind them, the camp was a quiet rumble of activity; muted insults and grumbles followed them as they left. Jaskier’s heart finally stopped racing, and he tried to settle his nerves. Kanen’s firm grip around his waist grounded him, and he focused on the strong touch to take his mind off of the pain. 

The walk was mostly silent, interjected by quiet grunts from the bard. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally arrived at the one place Jaskier knew he was safe. Kanen let him down gently on the flat rocks, and Jaskier hissed. The bandit put his bag down next to them, and fished out a pot of salve from within. He motioned towards Jaskier’s body and moved forward as if to help him, but Jaskier shook his head. Slowly, but on his own, he shrugged out of his doublet, which had definitely seen better days at this point, and removed his shirt. Bare-chested, Jaskier looked down to see several large bruises blooming on his skin. 

“They’ve done quite a job on you, haven’t they?” Kanen remarked lightly, wetting a cloth and wiping away the dirt from Jaskier’s body as he knelt in front of him. His touch was gentle and firm, and his other hand left a hot imprint where he was holding Jaskier steady. 

Jaskier just hummed in response, flinching away from the light pressure on his injuries. Kanen smoothed away the last of the dust from Jaskier, then picked up the jar, considering.

“Why don’t you take a quick dip to wash away the mess? The salve will be most effective on clean skin.” Jaskier nodded, and pulled himself to his feet and stripped down to his underclothes. He gingerly stepped into the pond, watching water ripple around him. Memories of quick baths in rivers and scrubbing monster guts off of armor almost blindsided him, but he pulled himself together with a shudder. Quickly, he scrubbed himself down as best he could, and then stepped out of the water, shivering slightly in the light breeze of the early morning. He moved stiffly, and winced as he almost slipped on a particularly smooth rock in the bed. Kanen helped him sit back down on the stone, and started gently applying the slave to Jaskier’s bruises. 

Jaskier watched as Kanen’s calloused hands gently ran over his injuries. There was an odd look in his eyes, and Jaskier wondered what was going through his head. The past week had given Jaskier a lot of time to think about the life he’d been living, and upon reflection he realized that he’d been living a mockery of a life for a while now. He did what was expected of him, acted the way he should, said the things people wanted to hear from a traveling bard, but nothing seemed real, nothing felt like him. It’d been a long time since he’d been honest with anyone, least of all himself.

In the middle of the process, Kanen stopped and looked down at Jaskier, frowning slightly. Jaskier looked into the gaze that was focused on him, shaken out of his oblivion. Kanen dug back into the bag and came up with a small vial. Handing it to Jaskier, he said, 

“This should help with the pain.” 

Jaskier tiredly took it from him and swallowed it down entirely. Kanen’s eyes widened at the action, but he didn't say anything. He continued rubbing Jaskier down, and watched him closely.

Jaskier felt exhausted, the action of the morning catching up to him. His energy was flagging, and he drooped in Kanen’s hands. It felt nice, being taken care of. Jaskier could let go in a way that he hadn’t been able to in too long. Still sitting in his damp underclothes, his eyes felt heavy, and a deep tiredness came over him. Kanen, finishing up, laid him flat on the stone, and turned back to his bag.

“It wasn’t meant to happen like this, but I guess all plans have to come to fruition at some point.” Kanen hadn’t turned to face Jaskier yet, but that statement had the tired bard feeling energized.

“I can go?” he asked, grateful that he decided to cooperate with the bandit for so long. Anyone who told him he chose bad company could suck it, he knew exactly how to read people. There might have been a bad decade in his past, but he knew how to pick his friends now.

Then, Kanen turned back around with a dagger held up in one hand, and a quill and parchment in the other, and his hopes shattered.

“Not quite, little lark. You didn’t think I’d let this opportunity slip away so easily, did you? I needed to make sure that the Witcher was aware of your disappearance, and had time to get down here. After that, I just had to suffer through your antics until the scouts could track him. He’s barely a day away now, and when he gets here, I’ll be the one to take him out.” 

Hurt filled Jaskier, and he feels so, so stupid. He should have known that he wouldn’t just get out of this situation so easily. He had wasted valuable time he should have spent planning his get-away, fraternizing with Kanen instead, who didn’t even care for his company. Jaskier could cry. So desperate for companionship after traveling for so long on his own, he didn’t even question the source when he finally got it. A manic thought suddenly flashed through his head: Geralt couldn’t stop fucking him over, even so long after they had gone their separate ways.

Kanen was still monologuing, but Jaskier could no longer direct his thoughts to focus on the man in front of him. He realized belatedly that the potion he downed earlier had probably been a sedative, and a strong one considering how fast it had taken hold of him. A rough hand gripping his face brought him swimming to attention, and he heard Kanen continuing.

“I knew he’d come for you. After all, who’d put up with you for so long unless you were worth something.” Two swipes of his blade later, a lock of Jaskier’s hair was sitting in Kanen’s hand and his palm stung with a fresh cut. Kanen pressed Jaskier’s bloodied hand to the parchment, then sealed it shut with the lock of hair inside it. 

Jaskier watched, eyes barely open, as Kanen put all the healing supplies back inside his bag, tucking the letter carefully with them. He turned around with a swath of green fabric in his arms; Jaskier just caught the cruel grin on his face before his grasp on consciousness was ripped away and blackness enveloped him once again.

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	4. F O U R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's coming for Jaskier, and where have they been all this time?
> 
> ft. Pining™, awkward men, and rivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost 2 months since the last chapter, and I'm truly sorry for the wait! I watched the subscribers go up on this fic with a sense of trepidation because I didn't have more content for y'all done yet, but I finally got this one out. It's shorter than my average chapter, but I hope you'll like it anyway!
> 
> My lovely betas, without whom this would be trash:
> 
> @monochromerainbows  
> @aj13 : https://upsidedownvanilla.tumblr.com/
> 
> Hopefully I'll see y'all again sooner than last time!
> 
> If you liked what you read, I'd love it if you'd comment and kudos!

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_One Week Ago, At A Bardic Competition_

Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, was not in any sense a patron of the arts. He didn’t enjoy listening to various untrained bards attempt to wow the crowd in front of them, and had no love to spare for the various mediocre musicians that tried to sway the crowd. 

So what was he doing, standing in the shade of the trees, at the edge of the large crowd, shrouded as he was in a dark cloak? Sure, his last hunt had been just two towns over, and he might have needed supplies to remake some of his potions, but there was no reason for him to lurk around this festival. Well, other than one very important one; Jaskier. 

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After the disaster at the mountain, Geralt had wanted to avoid the bard for as long as he possibly could. He knew that he had fucked things up, badly, but he didn’t have the words to apologize the way he needed to. So, after making sure that Jaskier had made it safely to the bottom of the mountain, Geralt had mounted Roach and taken off in the opposite direction. Two towns of riding later found him a contract deep in the forest surrounding the lord’s land. 

“There’s going to be a large amount of visitors in the next week,” the man had told him. “Don’t want any of them getting eaten while they’re here of course.” Geralt wondered why he hadn’t bothered getting rid of the issue for the sake of his own people, but took off into the wilderness anyway. The lord of the area hadn’t specified much, but told Geralt to get rid of whatever was killing livestock in the farms. Geralt took this as free reign, and worked his way through the forest, killing off any monsters he stumbled across, or that were unfortunate enough to get in _his_ way. At the end of five days, he had quite a large number of decapitated heads, tails, and teeth gathered, and zero patience left. The look on the lord’s face when Geralt counted out monster after monster that he would have to pay out for was almost enough to ease the ache that had settled in his heart.

On his way out of town, Geralt stopped in the market to replenish his supplies. He almost dropped a very expensive vial of blood when he heard a very familiar voice ringing out from the town’s square. Geralt's ears started echoing with a voice that sang of heartbreak and pain; his eyes zeroed on the performer that was emptying their soul onto the stage. 

Jaskier was standing with his foot propped up on a stool, gripping his lute as his nimble fingers danced across the strings, smiling widely at the crowd; the breath punched out of Geralt’s lungs. It had only been two weeks, but Geralt felt a rush of relief fill him at the sight of his- no, _Jaskier_. He looked well, Geralt noted vaguely, and felt an almost primal pull to go to him, grab him tightly and never let go again. But the logical part of his brain knew that Jaskier deserved better than to be held back by the same man that had insulted his friendship so thoroughly just weeks earlier, and Geralt forced himself to finish his purchase. As he stole away from the main part of town, trying to avoid notice, he heard a voice call out in the distance. 

“The bard Jaskier will be performing next at the Troturn festival, if any of you fans want to see him perform again.”

By the time Geralt made it back to where he had tied up Roach at the inn at the outskirts of town, he had decided on his next steps. It only made sense for him to continue on the Path until winter came, and if Geralt’s Path took him in the same direction as Jaskier’s next performance, well, what a coincidence that should be!

The plan worked pretty well for Geralt; he would follow from performance to performance and take up whatever contracts he could snag on the way. Sometimes he had to play catch-up to Jaskier if a fight took him longer than expected. Other times, he would spend a few peaceful days in the woods with Roach while he waited for Jaskier to finish up his performances. Geralt had very quickly given up the pretence that he wasn’t just following Jaskier around. The biggest issue he faced was making sure that Jaskier never caught sight of him when they were in town. He had gotten a few odd looks from people as he ducked under vendor’s stalls and behind laundered sheets to avoid Jaskier catching sight of him. Geralt had to sacrifice sleeping at the inns in smaller towns, where there was only one establishment, in fear of bumping into the bard he was tailing, but it was worth it. Thankfully, he had never had to step in to protect Jaskier either, which would have made a lot of things very hard to explain. As winter approached, Geralt started worrying about leaving Jaskier to fend for himself for the months in between, but when he heard that Jaskier was planning to go back to Oxenfurt for the winter, he could breathe easy. 

As he watched Jaskier join a caravan of students headed in the same direction, Geralt pulled Roach away, heading up to Kaer Morhen. He barely made it before the first blizzard of the season set in, but it was worth the peace of mind for Geralt. This winter would be a very important one for him, because he would figure out how to finally apologize to Jaskier, properly. 

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The effort of a painful three months was finally complete, and Geralt had a final draft of his apology for Jaskier. It had been picked over by everyone in the keep, some with more helpful comments than others. Not all Witchers were as emotionally clueless as Geralt, and he was grateful for their help. At the bottom of the mountain, Geralt was momentarily lost. Where would Jaskier be now? He turned to the notice board in the town, and saw ads for various contracts and sales, but one drew his eye. A bardic competition that he had heard Jaskier talking about the year prior, when he was still talking to him. Something about a rivalry, and a title to defend. In any case, that was the best place to start his search for Jaskier.

______________________________________

But he wasn’t here. Geralt watched an entire troupe’s worth of bards and musicians perform over the three days, but no Jaskier. He watched as the audience erupted into a flutter of hushed speech when it was announced that Jaskier wasn’t performing. He watched as a little twerp named Valid Max or something accepted an award with a speech that eviscerated Jaskier with every word. 

“He was last seen in Ealdor,” a young page he’d cornered finally told him. “Someone who was travelling in the same direction said he heard him perform one night when he was there, it was definitely him. No one’s seen him since.” Geralt growled, and pushed a coin into the frightened boy’s hand before shoving him away. 

Something was wrong. Geralt had left Jaskier alone, had pushed him away, had abandoned him, and now he was missing, and it was all Geralt’s fault. If only he had been able to talk to Jaskier before he’d left for the winter. If only he’d approached Jaskier at any one of his performances. If only he hadn’t hurt him the way he had on that mountain top almost a year ago. 

It didn’t matter now. Geralt was going to find Jaskier, he was going to apologize, properly, and they would travel together again. No matter what it took. 

  
  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, subscribe, kudos, bookmark, tell a friend! See you next time!


	5. F I V E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets a fancy new change of clothes and some jewelry to go with it, and he finds himself with some free time to have a self-reflection session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my GOD has it been a while! I AM DESPERATELY TRYING TO - oh oops caps- to get this chapter out before 2020 is over and i think i'll make it! im uploading it as is rn ( with 50 minutes left in the year!) but i'll make some edits later to make it look pretty, sorry if it's messy to read! also updated some tags so take a look at those!  
> i've finally moved into the main action of this chapter and i hope you guys are as excited about where this is going as i am! 
> 
> golly gee i sure hope this next chapter comes out soon, don't you?
> 
> you all have made my past year amazing, and i wish y'all a happy new year!
> 
> as usual, leave a comment, a kudos, bookmark this or tell a friend, and thank you for reading!
> 
> TW: implied/threatened sexual assault

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Jaskier was getting sick of waking up like this: disoriented, foggy, and in pain. It wasn’t an experience he was unfamiliar with, but he would really have liked to try something new for once. The memories of the morning hit him as his head began to clear, and a bitter taste erupted on his tongue at the reminder of his foolishness. Jaskier wondered if the flavor in his mouth was emotional or if he was getting the aftertaste of the sleep potion he had unwittingly downed. He tried opening his eyelids but they still felt heavy, as if they were held down over his eyes. One sense paralyzed, Jaskier tried utilizing the rest without alerting anyone nearby to his consciousness. He shifted his body slightly, then abruptly stopped when he realized that the weight that he felt keeping him down was not only metaphorical; he could feel the cut of an iron collar, as well as leather cuffs around his ankles. A breeze alerted him to the fact that air was flowing around too much of his skin. He felt soft silks on his body and his legs were bare and sliding against each other, shoulders warmed by the sun he couldn’t open his eyes to see.  
Jaskier was wearing a fucking dress, chained and collared, presumably lying in the middle of the gods damned bandit camp where he had spent the last week being taken in by an overly charming con-man of a bandit. He clutched his fists tightly and felt a thick bandage on his hand that he could barely remember injuring. Kanen’s betrayal was what hurt him the most, though. Jaskier thought back to the time he had spent with the lying bastard, all the “kindness” he had been shown by the bandit, and nearly shuddered in revulsion. It had all just been a ploy, and for what? A trap for Geralt? The man who’d quite thoroughly abandoned him months ago?

The bitter hurt in him was washed away by a new wave of fear. Geralt wasn’t coming for him; no matter what Kanen had said. It was only a coincidence that had him moving towards where Jaskier was and no matter what Kanen had done, taking his blood and hair for whatever reason, Geralt wouldn’t come.

  
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Jaskier felt the sun move higher into the sky, his shoulders and back hot with the glare of the star above. He focused on keeping his breaths as even as possible; the longer he could pretend to be passed out, the better. Plus, his head was throbbing something fierce, and he didn’t think it would be a good idea to let the light assault his eyes and make it any worse.

Jaskier’s attempts at self-care were interrupted by a gruff voice.

“How much did you give him?”

“Idiot drank down the whole bottle, no question. For someone who’s travelled with a Witcher, sure trusts easy. Barely even questioned the cover story past the basics, was so desperate for company. I had him eating out of my hand the second I came up to him, and he was basically throwing himself at me.”

“You have any fun with him then?”

“Nah, I think I’ll save that for when I’ve got the Witcher under my boot, watching.”

Jaskier swore he could feel that lecherous gaze boring into him, roaming over his body, and he barely suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t a stranger to unwanted attention, but Jaskier had never been this helpless before. Suddenly, the voices stopped and Jaskier heard footsteps walking towards him before he felt a boot in his side. His eyes shot open and, as he had assumed, the sun burned into his vision, leaving the ache in his head stronger than ever. When he instinctively tried to bring his hands up to hold his twinging side, the cuffs around his wrists pulled tight and he heard the loud clank of metal chains pulling taut. A loud gasp ripped out of his lips and Jaskier knew that any further attempts at deception were useless. Scrambling backwards, Jaskier glared up into the face of the bastard whose hands he had played so easily into.

“What do you want from me, asshole?”Jaskier spit, looking around to try and assess the situation. He was once again surrounded by the bandits, and the scene was so familiar to his first moments in the camp that he had to tamp down a high, desperate laugh. A small snort slipped through his efforts of concealment and it was enough to enrage his captors yet again. A rough hand gripped the back of Jaskier’s head, twisting his hair and pulling him up.

“Too bad for you, your Witcher isn’t here yet, and I’m just about sick of your bullshit. Time to earn your keep while you wait for your knight in shining armor to come and get you,” Kanen growled roughly, yanking Jaskier towards where the rest of the bandits were assembled. The bard tried to scramble to keep up, but the excess of chains wrapped around him kept him grounded, and he cried out as he was dragged across the dirt helplessly.

“So, bard, what’ll you do to pay us back for all the mercy we’ve shown you? All that time wasted, listening to your inane chatter, meals wasted on a wretch like you? You didn’t think it came for free, did you?” Kanen let go and Jaskier fell to the ground, dozens of eyes glued to him. His heart hammered in his chest and he pulled his legs in towards him, curling up under the scrutiny.

“Kanen!” A voice called in the distance, and the man turned to look at the sound. “That thing you said to look out for is here!” The leader of the bandits turned back to Jaskier with a disgusting look on his face.

“Looks like the show is going to start sooner than we expected. Too bad for you, ha!” A loud rattling behind him startled Jaskier and, by the time he realized what was going on, the elaborate harness of chain around him had been attached to the boulder that sat at the center of the camp. A hand grabbed Jaskier’s face from where he was staring dazedly at the bonds.

“I’ll be back for you, once I finish dealing with your uglier half,” Kanen mocked, and finally he walked away. Jaskier stared at his retreating back, wondering what he had ever done to deserve the hellscape that had been the past couple days.

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If he had to pinpoint a time, Jaskier would say that it had all started 11 years ago. If you asked anyone else, they might have asked when Jaskier had been born and started counting from there, but Jaskier had better things to do with his time than ponder the opinions of the woefully unfashionable. So, it started 11 years ago, in that stupid pub in Posada, where he just _had_ to follow around that stupidly handsome Witcher. Gods, what had he been thinking? That he would become wildly famous and have a whirlwind romance with a big, strong Witcher?

((Jaskier shook his head. Why did his brain keep bringing that kind of stuff up? Did it not realize that Jaskier was trying to have a mature and grave reflection into his life before his inevitable death?))

But he’d done it, gone and spent 10 years of his life, the _peak_ of his life, tagging along, unwanted, with the monster-hunter, contaminating the joy and freedom of youth with a pathetic infatuation for the best man he’d ever known. He’d trudged along in the woods, the mountains, through swamps and fields, in rain, sun, and snow. He’d patched up wounds in skin, tears in armor, and relationships within society. The Witcher had gone from a feared monster to a hero, and all Jaskier had asked for was some appreciation and maybe a vacation together where they would have eventually fallen in love and lived happily ever after. Jaskier had forgotten to take one thing into account in his dreams of the future, however: the absolute bull-headed stubbornness that Geralt was entirely filled with. Combined with his obliviousness to societal cues and relationships, Jaskier should have known that he was just asking for trouble by giving his heart away.

The careful balance that Jaskier had maintained for the last decade had crumbled when he had pushed at the wrong moment; the precarious relationship that Jaskier had worked so hard to develop was lost with a few insignificant words. Apparently Jaskier hadn't even realized all the follies he had been accumulating that Geralt had been holding against him. How was he to know, though, when Geralt’s communication skills started and stopped with his horse? Jaskier wasn’t a magical djinn, but when Geralt made his lovely request to Life itself, Jaskier, at least, knew how to take a hint. He struggled his way down the mountain alone, patted Roach goodbye, wished her luck with the bastard formerly known as the love of his life, and moved on.

The next year found him at various musical competitions and performances, and he had never been more in demand, his music having spread far and wide. And if some of his newer songs were a bit more heartbroken than the rest? Well, that was his business and absolutely did not pull inspiration from real life. Jaskier thought he was quite a resilient sort and, before he had been pulled into whatever this new mess was, he had begun settling into his new normal: lonely, yet never quite alone; silent, but never really quiet; smiling, but never really happy… Damn, these were good. Why did Jaskier never have something to write with when he really needed it?

Jaskier had thought he was done with Geralt, all ties cut and the 10 years just a story to tell for the fascinated public, but here he was: at semi-certain risk of death and a useless piece of bait for the Witcher that had never wanted him in the first place.

Jaskier fell back against the boulder he was chained to and took in his current predicament. His pants and doublet had been removed—well, he’d done that himself when he fell for Kanen’s stupid act. Instead, he was now wearing what looked like a green linen dress, the collar of it slipping down his shoulders without any of the laces done up. Jaskier was in no sense a small man, yet the dress seemed to accommodate for his size, making clear that this humiliation was always the plan. It wasn’t that he minded the dress- Jaskier was not one to shy away from any sort of fun fashion -but there was a certain level of vulnerability that came with wearing the loose drape of fabric and Jaskier knew that the feeling of unease that was creeping up on him was not unfounded.  
He wanted to _scream_ , but one look around the camp, still teeming with bandits that occasionally eyed him up, told him that making as little noise as possible was to his benefit. He kicked his heel, shoeless as he was, into the dirt, frustrated beyond any measure. All his years with Geralt, getting into fights, acting as bait for the monsters, getting uh, “accidentally” caught by the monsters when he tried-  
Jaskier pushed the thought out of his head and looked over his chains instead. Running a hand around his neck, Jaskier felt the iron of the collar that sat around his throat and followed the chain to the rock it was hooked to. Rage flowed through him anew as he realized that his captors had chained him like a fucking dog, but pulling at the chain was useless and he dropped it back to the ground with an angry grunt. The leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles were connected by a short chain between each pair, and a longer one ran from the chain between his hands to the chain between his feet. That one wasn’t long enough though, and Jaskier realized he couldn’t extend his entire body at once. He could either stand with his hands at his waist or kneel to get any freedom with his arms, and Jaskier hadn’t felt this confined since that time he and Geralt had been forced to hide in an impossibly tiny closet to evade yet another upset husband.

Cold metal running up his calves jerked Jaskier out of his memory and he followed the chill to the sword trailing up his legs. Kanen looked down at Jaskier, mouth twisted into a cold smile, and Jaskier struggled to sit up, pulling his knees inwards and freeing his hands to put up a meager attempt at protection. The sword found its way under Jaskier’s face and he tilted his face up to avoid getting nicked by the blade.

“Well then, let’s see what we have to work with here.”

Jaskier glared into Kanen’s face, refusing to let any of the terror that was coursing through him show. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight, no matter how one-sided or unfair or impossible it felt.

“The Witcher must have kept you around for something useful, so what is it that you did for him that he let you tag along for so long?”

“Well you see, I am a famous bard and storyteller, so obviously I was there to cobble his shoes,” Jaskier snorted. Kanen, unfortunately, did not seem to find him as witty as Jaskier found himself, and he threw his sword to the side and knelt down next to Jaskier. There was a dagger in his hands now and Jaskier watched in detached horror as the knife trailed across his exposed shoulder, sliding carefully across his neck.

The sound of laughs and intimidating murmuring drew Jaskier’s attention away from the current threat in front of him. A circle of bandits had appeared around them without Jaskier ever noticing, but now he was painfully aware of them, leering down at Jaskier from all sides.

“That mouth of yours can only be good for one thing, and I think it’s about time you put it to work.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment, a kudos, bookmark this or tell a friend, and thank you for reading!!!


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